


To View the Cheerful Skies

by Metallic_Sweet



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Behavior, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Falling In Love, Family Issues, Fictional Religion & Theology, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, International Fanworks Day 2021, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Non-Linear Narrative, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29466897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet
Summary: "It is good to understand that the Bridge is scary to outsiders,” Lorenz's mother says as they pass beneath the stone. “It needs to be."Lorenz was born to protect Gloucester. This is how he learned to protect himself.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Lorenz Hellman Gloucester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	To View the Cheerful Skies

In Lorenz’s earliest lessons, he memorised the geography of Gloucester and the Bridge of Myrddin. The water flows east beneath the Bridge and out into the sea. The river cuts through the mountains that form the border between the troubled territories of Hyrm and Ordelia. The sea it meets is shared with Almyra to the northeast and Dadga two months by fast sail to the south. In times of relative peace, merchant boats travel through the locks at Myrddin, carrying goods for trade ranging from rare herbs to Garreg Mach Monastery’s fish jerky, the Church’s premium export. 

When Lorenz was eight, he took his only trip out of Gloucester in the company of his parents through these locks. His mother’s arms remained firmly around his waist as he leaned over the side of their boat, fascinated by the way the water splashed up against the sides as they waited for the first lock’s gates to open. The mechanisms were made of steel and creaked loudly, and Lorenz listened to that monstrous noise with one ear and his mother’s conversation with his father with the other. 

“Having all those Hresvelg and Bergliez children,” his mother was saying in that particular tone of voice that Lorenz knew to be what adults called critical. “It’s irresponsible.” 

“I agree about Bergliez,” his father said, not as critical in tone but somehow graver for it. “They haven’t borne child bearing a Crest in generations, but for Hresvelg –”

“It is distasteful,” his mother sniffed, and she adjusted her hold on Lorenz so that he was secure in her lap as their boat began to move forward. “The Empire and its people would be content with minor Crests. And Ionius’s method are also wasteful. I don’t remember how many wifes he has gone through at this point.” 

His father’s response was lost to Lorenz because the boat was moving, and he was excited to pass beneath the Bridge of Myrddin. The massive fort and high defensive walls loomed over them. Lorenz found it both amazing and absolutely terrifying. It took all of his eight years to restrain his fear to quiet trembling. 

His mother did not fail to notice. Her hold around Lorenz’s waist became a hug, and she pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

“You are such a smart boy, Lorenz,” she murmured.

She cuddled him so that no one would guess that he was frightened. Lorenz looked up at her. His mother was a former wyvern rider, who had been born to the non-Crest-bearing Cordin branch family of Ordelia. She was older than his father by nearly a decade with a decorated military career in the Alliance Wyvern Company. His parents had married because it was an appropriate match and his mother had been ready to have a child to raise into prominence. Lorenz had given his parents exactly what they wanted at birth, and he never doubted he was loved. 

As they passed into the shadow of the Bridge, Lorenz gazed at his mother as she whispered:

“One day, just as I have done, you will go to battle here. It is good to understand that the Bridge is scary to outsiders,” and Lorenz heard his father snort softly and saw his mother’s lips twitch, “but it needs to be. Even if you must do battle, it is your honor to also prevent it if at all possible. Above all, you are Gloucester, and your noblest duty is to protect what is yours.

“Now,” and she reached up and adjusted Lorenz’s chin so that he faced forward to watch their progress through the shadow and towards the light, “chin up.”

Twelve years later, astride his stallion on the Bridge, Lorenz would remember his mother’s words. Looking out into Empire territory, he could see plumes of smoke rising up due to what his scouts had reported as skirmishes between armed believers of Seiros and Imperial troops. He gripped the reins of his horse. The leather of his gloves squeaked. He was too old to tremble. 

“Chin up,” he whispered. 

Beneath his feet, the monstrous gate remained shut. 

In Garreg Mach, in the faded edges of those short innocent days: 

Lorenz watched his fellow students and struggled. 

This was not the first time he had been away to school. Before his father called him home, he had completely nearly a full year at the Royal School of Sorcery. There, he had been surrounded by a slightly smaller body of students, but they had been from even more varied walks of life than those attending the Officer’s Academy. The School was subsidized by the House Blaiddyd and, unlike the Officer’s Academy, offered scholarships to students who were not of noble blood and came with a recommendation often by their local priest. Lorenz had loved meeting all the different students with their many magical talents because he knew they could all learn from each other. 

His time at the Officer’s Academy, though, was different. Lorenz arrived at Garreg Mach with two realities in mind. The first was his mother’s advancing age. She did not say it outright, but it would assuage her mind if he found himself a good match. It was his duty to carry on the family as House Gloucester had no branch families. He knew his mother’s pride urged her to be present and able to walk on her own two feet at his wedding. She could no longer fly, and Lorenz knew it would break her heart to be infirm on his wedding day. 

The second was that Lorenz knew there would be war on the horizon. It was something his father and mother had expected and experienced, and they had instilled this reality into him since boyhood. Gloucester’s border protected the rest of the Alliance to the south, and Lorenz would be alone would always be responsible for holding the Bridge. He could not depend upon Ordelia nor upon any other minor lord with minor holdings. Whatever the next conflict was, Lorenz would go to war for Gloucester, even if no reinforcements or allies came. 

Very few of Lorenz’s fellow students at the Officer’s Academy understood this. He struggled to connect with anyone, rebuffed for his advances and scolded for his reserve. It was something he knew he had to weather. He had to graduate, and he did not intend to waste his time. Even if his search for a suitable wife was unsuccessful, he grew to know his fellow noble scions and finish his education in a way considered appropriate of his station. He could fill his letters home with information to please and entertain both of his parents. 

“You write nearly as many letters as I do,” Hilda commented one sunny afternoon as they and Ferdinand shared tea. “Are they all to your parents?”

“They are very interested in my education,” Lorenz said after taking a sip of his tea, the Rose Petal Blend that he and Hilda liked so much. “Much like Holst, I believe.” 

“It is appropriate for families to be invested in the proper noble education of their children,” Ferdinand said before taking a bite of biscuit as Hilda grinned and rolled her eyes. 

Lorenz considered them to be his best friends in his school days. Hilda was easy company despite her laziness, and Ferdinand had a gift for moderating conversations and keeping them light especially when tea was involved. Ferdinand was a great study partner, despite his tendency to get distracted for hours on a particular topic, and Hilda offered Lorenz solid relationship advice when she wasn’t trying to skip out on doing anything. Sitting out in the courtyard surrounded by other students taking tea, Lorenz believed that he was having a wonderful and memorable scholastic experience. 

Even so, he struggled. Not because he failed to connect to those around him but because he did not see what was in front of him:

These were the beautiful and bitter days at the end of peace. 

For the rest of his life, Lorenz would look back on his halcyon time at Garreg Mach with great fondness and deep, aching regret. 

What no one except for Lorenz and his parents know is the Bridge of Myrddin has a secret.

Beneath the locks, the river has several thin tributaries that cut through the thick rock to form an underground lake. On the banks of the lake, there is a small shrine set up to a god who preceded the Goddess. The god’s dispassionate face gazes out over the lake as lord of its secret domain. Its left hand is raised as one would in casting a defensive spell like Ward. Its right hand is low, palm turned to face anyone with the courage or audacity to kneel at its base. 

The lake and its strange god is only accessible by a horribly narrow passageway beneath the lord’s quarters within the stronghold of Myrddin. Lorenz’s mother informed him of it when he was first sent to defend the Bridge, three months after the fall of Garreg Mach as Imperial troops regrouped and amassed across the border. She pressed the key into his hand, looking up at him from her seat at her writing desk. 

“You have grown so tall,” she said as Lorenz pocketed the key. 

“Does that displease you?” Lorenz asked because he felt frightened and uncertain and very alone.

His mother gazed at him. She did not frown nor did she smile. She looked upon him as she always had when she could not hide his fears any longer. 

“I love you, Lorenz,” she said, matter of fact and all the more reassuring for it. “You are everything I asked the Goddess for and more.” 

Beneath the Bridge, before the strange god: 

Lorenz is damp from the journey down the narrow passage. He had to remove and leave all of his armour and heeled boots in the lord’s chambers to fit inside, and even then he had to walk forward with his hand and elbows tucked in front of himself and his back and head bowed. When he emerged on the lake’s banks and lit the darkness with his Fire, the god’s face met his. Its hands offered protection and a warning. 

There is no question. Lorenz steps forward on the soft ground. He does not look away from the god’s gaze. The high nose and deep eyes. There is no voice, and there is no obvious magic, but here, as the world above ground threatens to devour itself in the flames and monstrosity of war: 

Lorenz finally understands his mother. 

The war welcomes monsters into the daylight, but Lorenz knows better than to believe they were not there before. 

There are many mysterious and monstrous things in the world. In Fódlan in particular, what is mysterious and what is monstrous is obscured. There are stories that predate the Goddess. It is said that there was a Goddess of the Sky, a God of the Earth, a Goddess of Fire, and a Goddess of Water. It is only after the Church of Seiros rose to power that these Gods and Goddesses became one and their individual qualities incorporated into the Goddess’s children. 

This knowledge is considered heretical. Lorenz learned it from Ferdinand in their academy days because some of the ancient tales have survived through western Adestria’s arts, particularly in opera and ballet. He listened to Ferdinand, Dorothea, and Manuela doing poetry and practicing songs, often just down the hall from the Archbishop’s office. It was beautiful and the thrill of it woke something rebellious in Lorenz, so, in his own time, he tried to write a few poems to please himself. 

Manuela did not tell anyone when she discovered his scribblings, but Ferdinand somehow found out anyway. He came to Lorenz in the evening at a much later hour than he usually was awake. There was an air of reserve to his demeanour as he joined Lorenz on the carpet of his dorm room with the door shut.

“You know it is dangerous,” Ferdinand said after a long moment of silently considering Lorenz, “to write about the past.” 

The noble world that Ferdinand came from was similar to but fundamentally different from Lorenz’s world. It was not just because of the political ramifications of the Insurrection. Ferdinand came from the circle of noble families who had children to create spares, and Crests were equal to the viability of the child’s life. Ferdinand was the only of his parents’ children to bear the Crest of Cichol, which was so rare as to be held only by Seteth; Duke Aegir did not bear the Crest and had inherited the House Aegir only because the spares of his generation all died. He was the fourth of seven surviving children; he was the sixth of eleven if Duke and Duchess Aegir’s illegitimates were counted. 

It was dangerous for Ferdinand to even speak this much behind the safety of the locked door of a Garreg Mach dorm room. 

“I understand,” Lorenz said because he thought he did. 

Ferdinand looked at him. He held himself as if he was smaller than he was. His gaze flickered over Lorenz’s face as if he could see something there that Lorenz could not know. He was so frightened it hurt Lorenz to see. 

“You do not,” Ferdinand said, and there was no judgement in his tone; there was only sadness and fear. “Lorenz –”

Something within Lorenz reacted before he consciously could. His body leaned forward, his arms and hands extending to wrap around Ferdinand’s shoulders. He pulled them flush together, and Lorenz could only think of his mother holding him, shielding him as they passed beneath the Bridge. In his arms, Ferdinand was not still. 

He trembled. 

Lorenz shifted. Adjusted his hold around Ferdinand’s back. He tucked Ferdinand’s head against his shoulder, fingers and palm cupping the back of his head and threading into his hair. It was soft and thick and so very vibrant. 

_It is irresponsible._

“I will be more careful,” Lorenz said as Ferdinand lifted his hands to fist against Lorenz’s sides; Lorenz wondered if anyone had ever held Ferdinand like this before; he couldn’t imagine it at all. “I will not leave my poetry around for just anyone to find.” 

Ferdinand did not say anything. He still trembled, but Lorenz knew he had many things to tremble before. It was not the ancient tales nor the knowledge of the past. Ferdinand, like Lorenz, knew what monsters awaited them. There had never been any safety within the monastery’s walls. 

“Promise me,” Ferdinand whispered against Lorenz’s shoulder, his knuckles digging into his sides.

And because Ferdinand was and always had been his friend:

“I promise.” 

Ferdinand breathed out. In. He lifted his hands and wrapped his arms around Lorenz’s waist. Around his back. 

For the first time since arriving at Garreg Mach, Lorenz did not have to struggle. 

So he bent his head and pressed a kiss to the crown of sun-kissed hair. 

Upon the Bridge, overlooking the river and the fields:

Lorenz watches the sun rise red. 

It is a strange view but not for the reasons that most likely think. For Lorenz, it is simply too quiet. As a child, he was more used to the sprawling grazing fields that surrounded his House. The background noise of cattle and sheep baying as they were herded through the wide open space was the most comforting and natural thing of him. 

Here, there is always background noise, but it is different. There is the river water, a constant, steady trickling. Occasionally, the creaking of the locks echoes as merchant boats pass through. Lorenz knows all the comings and goings now because each must be inspected for their contents by his troops, who are always moving around the stronghold and canals. Sometimes there are sounds of the beasts of war, the wyverns and pegasi squabbling or horses stamping and neighing. Myrddin is a noisy place, and Lorenz does not want to grow used to it. 

Chin up.

His days, when not in a tense standoff against Imperial or other Alliance troops, are spent reading and writing reports and letters. He hears little personal from anyone aside from his father, who relays what Claude has done recently at Roundtable meetings, and Hilda, whose letters of news from the Goneril and the Throat are a balm for the smatterings of normalcy her gossip brings. She tells him about all of the Golden Deer, especially Marianne and Ignatz, whom she has the most contact with, and Lorenz clutches her letters close as he reads them by the underground lake at the base of the strange god.

Lorenz goes to the lake more often than he should. It is the only private place available to him. He has built a couple of mage lamps to hold his Fire, and he lets himself pray both to the Goddess and the strange god because it gives him comfort. He prays for his parents and for himself, and he prays for Gloucester and his troops, and he prays for Hilda and Ferdinand. 

He especially prays for Ferdinand. He has been missing for nearly five years now. After the failed defense of Garreg Mach where he fought alongside them all, he had no choice but to return to Aegir. Lorenz has not heard from him since, and neither has anyone else. News from the Empire aside from troop movements and information related to the war is sparse. Lorenz can only pray that Ferdinand is safe and that, if he is, they will not have to meet as enemies. 

Because Lorenz has a duty to defend the Bridge. It was what he was born to do. He is Gloucester, and he belongs to his land and people before himself. It is his noble honor to stand and fight and die here in this stone and water coffin if that is what it comes down to. But he is still human, and it is the providence of humanity to be selfish. If it is possible, if there is the slimmest chance he can avoid his fate, Lorenz will take it. His mother said as much when he was eight and young and so afraid. 

For five long years, Lorenz kneels before the strange god and prays. 

When the Millennium Festival comes:

Lorenz leaves the Bridge with Ignatz to travel across the border and to Garreg Mach’s ruins. His father gives him leave, although Lorenz knows the cost. Without him on the Bridge, it will be much easier to sow dissent or plant a spy in the defenses. It is because his father loves him that he humours his only child to fulfil a single wish.

“For you have been unselfish and a good soldier,” his father’s letter, delivered by Ignatz, says. “Your mother and I will trust you on this whim this once.” 

“Do you think others will come?” Lorenz asks Ignatz as they ride through the decimated landscape around Garreg Mach. “I could not ask Hilda, and she did not write to me.” 

“I know Raphael plans to,” Ignatz says, looking into one of the deep, unnatural ravines. “I hope others will come, too.”

“At least there is us,” Lorenz says, which makes Ignatz smile, a little sad but pleased.

Their faith is rewarded. Claude and Byleth are engaged with thieves in the former town outside of Garreg Mach’s main gate. Lorenz’s heart sings as he realises that it truly is Byleth, and he could barely care about the details as he raises Thyrsus and calls his Fire. He can hear the voices of his friends, and Ignatz’s hands are steady upon his bow as they rush forward. 

And then, from the south –

“I am not late!” 

Lorenz cannot help himself. He turns and stares because there, rushing in from the south on wyvern-back, is Ferdinand von Aegir. He looks wild, dressed in red but no Imperial marking, and his hair has grown so long. He charges at a thief and hurls his javelin home. 

“Lorenz!” Ignatz barks. 

Lorenz jerks himself from distraction to see Ignatz has his bow drawn on a thief charging them. He swears and Thrysus glows as he casts Sagittae. There is no time for distractions let alone revelations. 

The middle of a battle is a poor time to have a reunion. 

They come together at Garreg Mach. It is, as Lorenz had expected, in terrible disrepair. Claude regales Byleth and everyone else with his plans and schemes, and Lorenz is left shaking his head. He has not seen Claude in the intervening years, and he knows from his father that he has shown himself to be an astute statesman. Lorenz saw those shades in their earliest academy days and trusted Claude as a leader, if not always for anything else. 

Everyone is born with a purpose. Lorenz was born to defend Gloucester as his father and his mother and his grandfather and all of those of his line before him. Hilda was born to find her own fulfillment, her eyes on the future and the lovely things that make life worth living. Claude was born to lead, and lead he will, especially if it means the end of all that has come before. It is obvious in every bit of his bearing, even though he believes himself to be an accomplished actor. 

“He has always been ambitious,” Ferdinand says as Lorenz joins him for a mug of dark tea in the stables. “That is why I returned. I thought –” 

He looks at Lorenz. His hair is so long. Lorenz grew his for his own purposes, kneeling before the strange god and considering the future. Ferdinand’s hair has the wild quality of someone who does not know how to deal with it and has simply given in to its tyranny. He did not explain where he was over the past five years except with a poetic line about wandering. Everyone overlooked it because he came with a battalion of people, all skilled and warworn and strong. 

“It would be nice,” Ferdinand murmurs, a secret without obfuscation, “to have a leader who is not mad.”

Mad with power. Mad with grief. Mad with anger and a thousand other horrible things. In their lives, their fates have been governed by the madness of their leaders and the greed of their supporters. Lorenz understands now how lucky he has been. His parents have worked his whole life to shield him from the worst of their world. In allowing him to return to Garreg Mach, Lorenz has been given the greatest gift of all: freedom. 

For them and for himself, Lorenz stands in the daylight of the new world. 

And here, as proof, is Ferdinand von Aegir, who Lorenz fell in love with somewhere long before he could call Ferdinand a friend. He watches Ferdinand sip his dark tea, gaze upon the horses exercising in the courtyard. He observes the curve of his nose. The cleanliness of his jaw. The soft dart of tongue over his lips to catch every bit of tea. He was never one for waste because he was always so aware how close he was to losing it all. 

I promise.

“I prayed for you,” Lorenz says because he must. 

Ferdinand blinks. He starts to smile, but Lorenz shakes his head. He raises his left hand and it glows. As if he is casting Ward but not quite. 

“I prayed to the Goddess,” he explains as Ferdinand stares at the magic and its strange symbols filling the circle, “but also to an old god. Like we spoke of once as young men.” 

Lorenz deactivates the sigil. Lowers his hand. Ferdinand’s gaze follows its progress to where Lorenz rests his palm and fingertips upon the stable stall’s gate. Behind them, Ferdinand’s wyvern has not moved. It is not concerned with magic nearby anymore than it is by the fresh sand it relaxes upon. 

“Lorenz,” Ferdinand says. 

It is soft and uneven. He blinks and there are tears in his eyes. Lorenz sets down his cup so he can reach out and draw them into the privacy of the stall. Ferdinand follows, still clutching his own teacup. He stares up at Lorenz as if he is seeing him for the very first time. 

“I promised you,” Lorenz says, and he knows that this is the only promise that anyone has ever kept for Feridnand; he needs to be understood. “My poetry is not for just anyone to find.” 

It is his faith, and Lorenz only believes in what protects. It is what he was born to do, and it is what he loves best. Because Gloucester cannot make war. Gloucester holds the Bridge of Myrddin against all sides. They cannot make war because those great walls and monstrous locks must never fall. 

“It is dangerous,” Ferdinand whispers as he allows Lorenz to take his teacup and set it on the ground. 

“This is not about the past,” Lorenz says as Ferdinand smiles, his hands reaching up to cup Lorenz’s shoulder and cheek.

“No,” Ferdinand murmurs as Lorenz presses their lips together, “it is not.” 

They do not tremble. In each other’s arms, for the first time in their lives:

They are safe. 

The war is before them. 

Ahead is the dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> Connect with me on Twitter [@Metallic_Sweet](https://twitter.com/Metallic_Sweet)!


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